The art of attraction
by BornBellamist
Summary: Charlie has an interesting encounter with Matt Bellamy of Muse in her art class... The story is set in present time, but Matt is a teenager. Please read and review!


Hurriedly I pushed down on the cold handle of the door and leaned into it as I forced it open. The gust of wind that accompanied me sped me forward as my hair was whipped into a tangled mess. I ran the hand that was not weighed down by my art folder through my hair, trying to regain a presentable appearance. After exchanging a customary nod with the teacher I made my way over to my desk. On my way I had to slink awkwardly past a group of girls I had yet to learn the names of. I was not as unnoticeable as I'd hoped. One of the girls broke free from the group and tapped me on the shoulder, "I like your hair" she said before turning away with a flick of her hair to revel in my humiliation with her friends. I felt my cheeks burning as I plastered a weak smile on my face and sat down at my table. If the start of the lesson was anything to go by, I could tell it was going to be another enjoyable period in art, another lesson dedicated to nurturing students' social lives.

The teacher called the roll and promptly returned to his desk to resume browsing the web. As soon as his back was turned, the class erupted into loud conversation. I crammed my headphones into my ears, welcoming the familiar croon of Jim Morrison's voice. My art book lay spread out in front of me, with the material I hoped to draw from scattered around it. After a few moments of contemplation I decided on a smoky teal background tinged with grey, to create the stormy atmosphere I was aiming for. This proved to be more complicated than I had envisioned, as I was still trying to produce the right hues ten minutes later. A light breeze brushed past my legs, interrupting my anguished mixings, I looked up to discover Matt Bellamy entering the class room. My eyes followed him as he made his way over to the teacher, late pass in hand. Then he turned loping towards his seat, which happened to be located next to me. I tore my eyes away, realising my things were cluttering up his desk, I hastily cleared them up. I raised my gaze to find him standing a few paces in front of me holding up a square of painted canvas, which he was examining intently. My stomach turned nervously as I realised that he was holding up my latest completed piece. He placed it back down thoughtfully and turned towards me, his cerulean eyes locking onto mine. My heart jolted as his intense gaze seemed to search, probing through me. He appeared unaffected by this encounter and greeted me with a casual "Hey". "Hey", I rasped, barely able to form the word. He slid past me and into his seat. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, trying to appear absorbed in my work, as he took out his work and flipped through the sketches. I found my self entranced by the way in which his sharp eyes examined his work, narrowing in appraisal and glistening when some unspoken inspiration formed in his mind….

I shook myself mentally, chastising myself for wasting time on doing something that bordered on obsession. My fascination with Matthew Bellamy had begun at the start of the year, when he'd first strolled into art ten minutes late, without an excuse. There was something about his demeanour that appealed to me. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, his sloping gait, and the leonine stretch of his body. Or maybe it was his attitude of not caring about anyone's opinion of him, which accounted for his impulsive and sometimes arbitrary behaviour. The complexity of his character was such that he could sometimes be found wandering nomadically around the class mingling with whoever he came across and at others you would find him sitting at his desk oblivious to everyone else, sometimes seeming in his own world. And this other-worldliness was what attracted me the most, making him akin to an unsolved mystery.

My musing ended abruptly when a sudden movement caught my eye. He had shifted on his stool so that he was now facing me. "That painting over there, it's yours?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Yep", I replied meekly. "It's very good" he continued. I nodded and thanked him, averting my eyes the entire time. The following silence was emphasised by a break in my music, I cast my eyes sideways to discover that he was still staring intently at me, my heart rate sped up. "Um, what're you working on?" I mumbled, trying to get rid of the awkward atmosphere between us. He showed no shame at being caught staring and turned slowly to retrieve his work. I used the break in eye contact to try to regulate my erratic heart beat. He presented a few sketches. "I'm basing it on a dystopian future" he volunteered. "That's cool", I said albeit surprised, he normally kept his work shielded. "What're you listening to?" he asked in an attempt to keep the conversation going. "Um…." I briefly considered lying and claiming to be listening to some contemporary pop band. "The Doors", I blurted. "Dammit!" I exclaimed internally. I monitored his face for a reaction, his features shifted in surprise "The Doors? I can play one of their songs on the guitar". "Oh" I breathed, his reaction being completely opposite to what I expected. He jumped up without warning, displaying a sense of urgency greater than I'd ever witnessed from him before. I watched in bewilderment as he rushed to the front of the classroom and disappeared into the storeroom. He was back a few seconds later carrying a battered acoustic guitar. He sat down next to me and began testing the strings as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When he seemed satisfied with the sound each string produced he arranged his hands into positions that he seemed to recall with ease. The first few notes he struck resonated loudly. Then one hand proceeded to slide nimbly up the fret board as the other picked out the descending introduction of "Love Street". My mouth hung slightly agape as I observed his playing. My eyes wandered up, finding his face which had an expression of complete Bliss, he was completely immersed in his playing. "Thank you Mr Bellamy for that entertaining display, but this is art class" the unexpected presence of the teacher behind me made me jump. Matthew's playing stopped mid chorus and he raised his eyes to meet the teachers with a neutral expression, before propping the guitar gently against the desk. The teacher turned on his heel and returned to his desk. The room felt oddly empty with the absence on Matthew's playing. Matthew himself had morphed into a different person in its absence as if it had conjured up some sort of internal fire in him which had been extinguished. "That was amazing Matthew" trying to revive him. "Call me Matt" he said nonchalantly. "I could teach you if you want" he trailed off. The prospect of watching him play again was more appealing than learning the song, as I had no musical talent whatsoever. "Yeah, that'd be nice" I replied uncertainly. He looked up to grin at me, noting my awkwardness. "How about tomorrow…..We have art before interval right?" he asked, running his hand through his already tousled hair. I bobbed my head goofily, resulting in another mischievous grin. "It's a date then" he concluded, watching for a reaction. This time I was able to keep my facial expressions in check, having been alerted by his previous grin, but I couldn't help the pounding of my heart against my rib cage. "I guess so" I said a bit breathily, before realising I had unintentionally responded in a flirtatious manner. The colour started to creep into my face at that point. Just then the bell rang; I sprung out of my seat, physically distancing myself from the awkwardness I'd created. Unfortunately my path was blocked by some of the other students. By the time I had reached the door Matt was not far behind, he quickened his pace to walk beside me down the corridor. Just as I was about to turn for the stairs he grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him. His fingers were rough and callused from playing the guitar, Goosebumps rose on my skin. He seemed to revel in my discomfort for a few seconds and then, as an after thought, he spoke "You forgot your folder." I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding and accepted it from him. He released my arm and I turned to leave. "Bye Charlie" he called. I turned around, light headed, and mumbled my goodbye. Once again he smiled, and then carried on walking. I watched his retreating figure cutting through the crowd and realised for the first time this year I'd learned something in art.


End file.
